Once Upon a Time: Sheharazade
by LA Knight
Summary: Faerie tales before a fire can have far-reaching consequences. A collection of flash-fiction set during chapters 9 & 10 of "Once Upon a Time." Inspired by WhenNightmaresWalked's challenge.


_**Glossary:**_

Dribble - flash-fiction of 50 words or less.  
>Drabble - flash-fiction of 100 words or less.<br>Drouble - flash-fiction of 200 words or less.  
>Tribble - flash-fiction of 300 words or less.<br>Quabble - flash-fiction of 400 words or less.  
>Quibble - flash-fiction of 500 words or less.<p>

_**Author's Note:**__ these are several little flash-fictions set during the glossed-over month or so in chapters 9 and 10. Just to show the evolution of the relationship, since I kind of skip over the development during Dylan reading Spindle's End and reading Conan the Barbarian, which spans like... 2 months or so. So here we go. "Confusion" is by WhenNightmaresWalked._

.

.

**Sheharazade**

**A "Once Upon a Time" Word-Prompt Collection**

.

.

_Time_

Three months is not long to an Elf.  
>It's an eyeblink.<br>For one who has lived for more than four millennia,  
>it is as nothing.<p>

Yet three months is enough time for him to begin to doubt.  
>For him to begin to wonder.<p>

Three months is an eternity to some humans -  
>humans,<br>with their impatience  
>and their lives like candleflames that flicker to burning<br>before being snuffed out forever.

The moon waxes and wanes thrice.  
>Time passes.<p>

The mortal woman should have betrayed her blood by this time.  
>Yet three months is just long enough to make Nuada think,<br>make Nuada slowly slowly slowly start to wonder if maybe just maybe he can trust a little.

_Faire_

He'd followed her that summer day,  
>watching her with her friends as they engaged in the various pretenses and play-acting that such faires boasted.<p>

He had no eyes for the other women.  
>Only for Dylan<br>as she listens to the old music with a smile on her face,  
>or moves through the steps of the olden dances with a fey-like grace.<p>

And for just a moment he saw her in Bethmoora,  
>a lady of the court,<br>striding through a fae faire on his arm.

Then the image was gone,  
>banished to the realm of foolish whimsy where it belonged.<p>

_Badge_

It shocks him,  
>once the adrenaline of the fight with the leanashe wears off.<br>Shocks him to see  
>the myriad of thick and thin slashing scars<br>making a wreck of an otherwise ordinary human face.

He knows mortals have ways of emoving such disfigurements -  
>why hasn't she?<br>Why bear such scars if she doesn't have to?

He asks her another night,  
>and she smiles more than a little sadly.<p>

"To remind me," she says.  
>"Because I can't lie and say it never happened.<br>Because it happened, and I survived...  
>thanks to you."<p>

_Feet_

In his sanctuary she knelt before him,  
>a common-born mortal wretch before a prince of fae blood.<br>This was as it should be.

But now...  
>she sits at his feet when she reads to him,<br>perched on her little footstool,  
>and it makes him uneasy in a way he cannot even hope to explain.<p>

_Apple_

It is the first gift he has ever freely given her -  
>the means to make a roasted apple and cheese sandwich.<p>

To this day,  
>it is one of her favorite foods.<p>

_Laughter_

Nuada has never heard Dylan laugh quite like this before -  
>carefree,<br>happy.  
>Has never heard anyone but a child laugh so.<p>

It somehow makes her less human.  
>Makes her sound almost fey.<p>

The Elven warrior wonders if he might not be going mad when he realizes  
>he rather likes the sound of it.<p>

_Hiccup_

In all his four-thousand-odd years,  
>he has never seen a human look so ridiculous<br>(or amusing)  
>as Dylan holding her breath,<br>crossing her eyes,  
>and sticking out her tongue in an attempt to cure a fit of hiccups.<p>

_Meals_

It's not the food, though the food is good -  
>apple and cheese sandwiches,<br>grape salad,  
>breakfast turnovers,<br>mandarin chicken and rice.

It's the quiet,  
>the companionship.<br>The communion.

It is the simple fact that Nuada Silverlance,  
>bane of mankind,<br>is willing to share a simple meal with a mortal woman.

_Servant_

Nuada expects her to treat the brownie as a slave,  
>now that she knows of him.<br>A drudge,  
>at the very least.<p>

But after several weeks he realizes that Dylan considers the wee one to be more than a servant.  
>He is a friend.<br>Perhaps even family.

_God_

They don't just read.  
>They often talk, and of many things.<p>

Through those talks they each learn something:  
>he believes that the Star Kindler has abandoned him and abandoned his people;<br>she knows that Heavenly Father is always there,  
>and it when you feel abandoned that you need Him the most.<p>

_Invitation_

Because he is royal,  
>he does not need one.<br>He can enter any human dwelling anywhere,  
>anytime.<p>

Because he is Nuada,  
>she always lets him in,<br>with bright eyes and a happy smile.

_Walls_

These stone walls are cold from the winter air,  
>but they hold the gentle warmth of a home.<p>

These walls,  
>strange as it is,<br>have slowly come to mean comfort.  
>Have come to mean welcome where he least expected it.<p>

He should be disgusted with himself,  
>that he feels this way.<br>That he is _allowing_ himself to feel this way.

Instead,  
>he keeps coming back.<p>

_Quiet_

"The world is quiet here," she says one day.  
>Nuada glances away from the fire to see Dylan smiling.<br>"We're outside of time.  
>Outside of the world.<br>It's peaceful."

And oddly, Nuada realizes, she is absolutely right.

_Plushie_

"Oh, crud, he killed it," Dylan mumbled,  
>staring at the mounds of stuffing on the floor.<p>

Bat rolled around in his fluffy toy's fluffy eviscerated guts and purred.  
>The disemboweled cloth mousie was clutched tightly in his claws.<p>

_Almost_

He can't believe he is thinking such a thing,  
>but with every passing week -<p>

with every word of the strange human tale,  
>with every shared evening meal,<br>with every conversation that peels back another layer of this bizarre and unfathomable mortal woman - 

Nuada finds himself almost beginning to like her.

_Fatigue_

There are gathering shadows in his eyes.  
>The darkness around those eyes,<br>around his mouth,  
>seems to grow deeper each time she sees him.<p>

Sometimes he arrives looking so tired  
>she wants to tell him to go lie down in her room and rest.<br>But she knows he won't.

Instead,  
>those rare occasions when he dozes off in the chair,<br>she pauses in her reading and lets him sleep.

_Storyteller_

As a prince,  
>he has listened to<br>the greatest faerie bards,  
>minstrels<br>and troubadours.

But there is something about the way  
>she reads her tales to him -<br>something that makes each word resonate with him,  
>so that though the words are mortal,<br>they paint almost magical pictures in his mind.

_How_

He does not understand her,  
>though he learns more about her each night that he comes to her cottage.<p>

How can she be so calm,  
>so tranquil in the face of what she has endured?<p>

How can she be so kind to his people?

How can she be so gentle,  
>when all the world's evils should have made her hard and cruel?<p>

How can she be so fey-like,  
>when she is so human?<p>

He doesn't know the answers,  
>but as the days go by,<br>he realizes he is growing accustomed to not knowing.

_Fizzy_

It is so rare for him to smile.  
>When he does<br>(usually at something in the story,  
>but ever so rarely he gives a crooked little half-smile for her, too)<br>it fills her stomach with an odd tingling fluttering warmth that always makes her smile back at him.

_Edge_

The tale is over.  
>He has no reason to return.<br>This is a foolish venture -  
>to go back to a mortal dwelling without cause or justification.<br>What is the point?

Yet he finds himself poised on the leyline that marks the border of the Park,  
>separating it from the foul City.<p>

If he steps across it, it means little.  
>He is a fae prince; he can walk where he wills.<br>He can tread the paths of the Park if he so chooses.  
>And if his feet bring him to the little cottage amidst the green,<br>it means nothing.

Nuada stares at the little white-washed garden gate nestled amidst the stone walls of Dylan's garden.  
>The edge of her domain,<br>just as the leyline marked the edge of the Park.

He draws a breath.  
>It feels almost as if he is about to step off a cliff and plummet into a bottomless chasm.<br>Far off and away on the horizon  
>he senses an odd dread growing darker by the minute.<p>

But the Silver Lance has never run from something because of fear.  
>So he steps off the cliff's edge and across the threshold of that garden gate,<br>and goes back to the mortal cottage once more.

_Island_

There is something isolating and alone in this little cottage,  
>though not lonely.<p>

In the raging sea of the world  
>the darkness and the cruelty and the heartache<br>attempt to swamp those who attempt to swim in its storm-tossed waters.

But inside that mortal home,  
>despite the humanity of its owner,<br>it is like finding the one safe place that cannot be subsumed by the waves.  
>The one warm, comfortable, safe place<br>amidst the black ocean of the world.

_Daybreak_

Sometimes he stays until dawn,  
>lulled by simple conversation and tales of sleeping princesses and barbarian kings.<p>

Lured by the promise of companionship that demands nothing,  
>asks nothing,<br>expects nothing.  
>There is something so enticing about that.<p>

Even though she is human,  
>there is something about her that makes it so easy to sit back and listen to her read to him<br>until the creeping sunlight taps at the windowpanes,  
>reminding them both that they have responsibilities elsewhere.<p>

_Trust_

It builds between them,  
>bit by bit.<p>

The foundation is laid with three months in a healing sanctuary beneath the earth.  
>The cornerstone is a debt of honor.<p>

As the days pass from summer to autumn,  
>the stonework of these soon-to-be unshakeable walls is built one piece at a time -<p>

the words of a tale,  
>the sweetness of summer apples,<br>a moment of carefree laughter,  
>brief shared glances and even briefer smiles.<p>

Slowly but surely,  
>they are learning to trust one another.<p>

_Bronze_

Fury turns his eyes molten and hot,  
>a warning to anyone foolish enough to provoke him.<p>

But somehow she cannot find it in herself to be afraid of him when his eyes burn with anger;  
>not anymore.<br>She knows he would never harm her.

_Odd_

How odd,  
>that he feels welcome in the little cottage amidst the green wood.<p>

Odd,  
>that as the days go by,<br>he finds his heart is just a little bit lighter.

So very odd,  
>that he should find himself looking forward to seeing her again.<p>

_Gossip_

_Have you heard?  
>Is it true?<em>

_Where does the Silverlance go every night at dusk?  
>To the Park.<em>

_Why would he go there?  
>To see someone.<em>

_Who?  
>A woman.<br>A_ mortal _woman._

_Who is she?  
>No one knows.<br>Informant, ally, friend, lover, whore, sweetheart, plaything._

Sharp Elven ears catch every word.  
>Rage begins to fester.<p>

So,  
>the Defender of Bethmoora,<br>the proud and mighty Silverlance,  
>has betrayed his people.<br>The line of the Tuatha de has finally failed.

_Outcast_

It should revolt him,  
>that he seeks solitude from his own kind<br>and yet seeks companionship with a human.

She is nothing  
>but an empty, heartless creature without a soul,<br>without morals,  
>without any hope of becoming more than what she is.<p>

Yet for some unfathomable reason,  
>at Dylan's cottage<br>he feels more welcome than he has felt anywhere in a long, long time.

_Toast_

"So you actually know how to make toast without magic or a toaster?" Dylan asked.

Nuada didn't preen under the admiration in her voice,  
>but it was a hard battle.<p>

"You are so amazing," she added,  
>as he handed her a piece of lightly toasted bread.<br>She fleetingly daubed it with a bit of butter before adding fresh apple preserves.  
>"I don't know anyone who can make toast over a fire.<br>You are so amazing right now, Your Highness."

"Only amazing?"

"Well, let me take a bite first," she said,  
>and proceeded to do so.<br>Her smile was as satisfied as a cat with a bowl of cream.  
>"Okay, you're fantastic. Happy?"<p>

Oddly, he was.

_Spoon_

"What are you doing?"  
>Nuada demanded.<p>

"What does it look like?"  
>Dylan replied.<p>

In truth,  
>it looked as if she were<br>carefully balancing a piece of silverware  
>on the tip of her crooked nose,<br>but surely not.

_Different_

It is like a stone lodged in his throat to admit it,  
>even after all this time.<p>

Eight moons he has known her now.  
>Eight moons and still she continues to surprise him.<br>Still she shucks the curse of her mortal blood.

Why is this one so very different?

_Confusion_

Sometimes  
>Nuada wants to grab her by the shoulders and<br>demand to know where she came from,  
>because she may be in the world,<br>but she is not of the worldc  
>she can't be.<p>

_Scarred_

It makes no sense  
>that he should find any kind of beauty in the wreck of that mortal face.<p>

It makes no sense  
>that he should find compassion<br>or mercy  
>or understanding<br>in those haunted blue eyes.

She is merely a human.

A good storyteller, yes;  
>a skilled healer, yes.<br>But that should have been all.

Yet in that slashingly disfigured face and sad eyes  
>he finds,<br>impossibly,  
>someone as scarred as he is.<p>

_Moon_

He reminds her of the moon.

Constant as its presence in the sky;  
>can't always see it,<br>but it is always there.

Mercurial as its phases:  
>waxing and waning,<br>dark and new,  
>bright and full.<p>

He is so like the moon - silver and untouchable in the night.

_Sunrise_

How long had it been,  
>he wondered,<br>since he'd stayed up all night simply to watch the sunrise?

As the light limned the trees and kissed his skin with its warmth,  
>Nuada knew he would always remember this moment with Dylan at his side.<p>

_Tomb_

The subway tunnels close in on her as she races through them,  
>searching for safety,<br>lost in the stone labyrinth all around her.

She rushes through,  
>running,<br>heart pounding,  
>the baby in her arms wailing pitifully that it doesn't like this place that stinks of concrete and steel,<br>doesn't like this woman smeared with iron-laced blood,  
>doesn't like the cold and the jostling and the monster chasing them deeper and deeper into the crypt-like New York Underground.<p>

Dylan shushes the baby and keeps running.  
>Somewhere beyond this ghoul-infested, ghost-haunted place is a haven guarded by a warrior prince.<p>

She just has to find it.

_Separation_

They stand scant inches apart,  
>the moonlight shining down on them both.<br>Her eyes are wide and worried as they study his face.

He wants to tell her that everything will be all right -  
>he cannot stand the sight and stench of a woman's fear.<br>Especially not _this_ woman,  
>for some strange reason.<p>

Nuada wants to tell her not to worry about Eamonn.  
>Not to fear for him, either.<br>He can see she fears Eamonn and fears _for_ Nuada himself.

But any assurance he might give would be a lie.  
>This mortal deserves better than falsehood.<p>

Instead,  
>Nuada offers her a short bow -<br>one he would normally reserve for a woman of the court.  
>She has tried to protect him yet again this night.<p>

Then,  
>after one searching look<br>(are those tears in her eyes?)  
>he turns and disappears into the darkness,<br>knowing that he will most likely never see Dylan again.

_Trickery_

A ploy.  
>A pregnant woman butchered,<br>her fae love killed,  
>an innocent child orphaned...<br>all to trap him.  
>To incriminate him.<p>

Nuada had known  
>his people could be fey, false, tricky.<br>Could be vindictive.  
>He'd known that.<p>

But he hadn't thought any faerie capable of _this._

_Run_

He should have run from her when he had the chance,  
>she thinks to herself,<br>pacing in front of her fireplace.

It has been more than a month since she has seen him;  
>since he has come to hear a story from her.<br>He should've escaped the curse her life can become for the people she cares about when he had the chance.

Instead,  
>she ran to him,<br>ran to the safety and strength of him when she was afraid of the butchering madman in the dark,  
>and now Nuada is gone,<br>and she doesn't know where,  
>or whether she will ever see him again.<p>

_Maybe_

He moves through the _kata_ with savage grace and barely-restrained violence.  
>He wants to fight an opponent for true;<br>wants to feel his blood humming with adrenaline and battle-fury  
>as he works through the rage and the dread and the hurt.<p>

His father... and Eamonn... and trickery... and deceit.  
>It sends his anger boiling in his blood,<br>screaming for release.

Instead of giving it free reign,  
>he conjures up something else -<br>the sound of Dylan reading him _Spindle's End_.  
>Her smile that always welcomed him to her cottage.<p>

He will never have that again;  
>his father will make sure of that.<br>But perhaps...  
>just perhaps...<br>the fact that he had it at all is worth what will come from it.


End file.
